Turned in Blood – Flash Fiction

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A short story for Chuck Wendig’s genre mash-up fiction challenge. The dice chose for me a combination of vampire erotica and noir detective!

Note, this is an erotic story with explicit sexual content.

Turned in Blood

The street corner offered limited shelter from the torrential rain. In the dark of the early evening Detective Frank Marston huddled under a doorway and took a long slug from the quarter bottle of whiskey, held like a precious trophy in his numb hands. He was digesting his latest misfortune; his bitch of a wife filing for divorce. This was on top of recently diagnosed prostate cancer, and a career which was slipping through his fingers.

He couldn’t do anything about the bitch, and the cancer was in the hands of specialists. All he could influence was Lieutenant William’s threat of demoting him back to uniform. At 38 years of age, but feeling 50, that would kill him if his prostate didn’t. He needed a new case, one he could get his teeth into and win.

“Fuck!” he said, then drained the bottle and tossed it in a trash can. He staggered the quarter mile back to the precinct, trying to avoid Williams, who usually worked late too; Frank new he looked and smelled like he’d been drinking.

He slunk back to his desk unnoticed and worked through a pile of paper work. After a few minutes he realized he hadn’t taken in a single word or fact. There seemed no point in staying, but where would he go? Since separating from the bitch he had moved out of their plush suburban home to a shitty little apartment on the wrong side of town, frequented by drug users and drunks. He never thought of classifying himself in the latter category.

He was about to leave, a seedy bar having won as the preferred destination over his apartment, when a colleague entered.

“Hey Frank, glad you’re here. New call just came in, a murder down Rose Avenue.”

Fuck, he thought, I could do without this now.

“Can’t you take it on Steve?”

“Sorry, I’m doing interviews, got some crazies to deal with. Look, uniform are down there now, they need someone pronto.”

“OK, OK, I’ll go.”

Rose Avenue was an up-market area, the realm of lawyers and financial types, with a sprinkling of the ‘arty’ class. It was too far to walk so he got behind the wheel of his car. He knew he was DUI but didn’t care. He weaved down the rain sodden streets, reflecting headlights and streetlights like a mirror, while nursing a strong black mug of coffee in one hand.

Uniform had cordoned off the area and had begun to preserve the scene, the officer guarding the entrance to the building waved him through.

“Where am I heading?”

“Third floor, apartment 13, Jack is up there.”

Frank climbed the stairs, he didn’t trust lifts. The door to the apartment was open but the room was dark.

“Any lights around here?” he called out.

An officer appeared from the shadows.

“Hi Frank, looks like the main fuse has blown, no power to anything.”

Frank took out his Maglite.

“Where’s the stiff?”

“Follow me. A bit weird this one.”

“How’s that Jack?”

“You’ll see.”

Frank’s torch beam scanned the bedroom and settled on the body of a female lying prostrate on the bed. He put her age at mid 30’s, smartly dressed and very attractive. He walked around the bed assessing, looking for those infinitesimal indications of importance that can be missed by the untrained eye. This was Frank’s strength and now he was back into the flow of what he did best. Then he saw what was strange; the smile on her face and two puncture wounds to her neck, with congealed blood running in a streak down her neck to a dried pool on the sheet.

“What have we got here then, a vampire killing?” Frank jested.

“There are no other injuries, she’s stone cold. Must have been dead for hours but the call only came through 25 minutes ago.”

“Who called it in?”

“Anonymous. There’s no sign of a struggle or anything taken, and no forced entry.”

“Have we got a name or any other details?” Frank asked.

“A quick look in her purse says she’s Claire Heart, single, a PR executive, that’s all we’ve got. Look, it’s a busy night, forensics should be here soon. Mind if myself and the lads leave you to it? I’ll leave Kelly at the front door.”

“No, go ahead; I’ll have a look around.”

Frank made a slow search of the apartment, room by room, trying to find a clue to the motive behind the murder. But there was nothing. A random killing or a lovers tiff perhaps? He felt it in his blood, his appetite was whetted, this was the case to change his course. He would stop drinking, for now.

He returned to the bedroom and had a cursory look through drawers and then the wardrobes. Suddenly he felt a presence and turned to see a woman looking at him, her eyes glowed with an eerie redness and the bed was empty. He recoiled in shock and drew his gun, pointing it and his torch at the apparition. The woman was standing three feet away and wasn’t moving. She just smiled. Crazy, but it had to be Claire, his thoughts were confirmed when he saw the marks on her neck. She licked her lips and Frank felt a strange sexual yearning. Claire looked down; she could obviously see the erection that was distorting his trousers.

She moved towards him but he backed away until he was pressed against the wall, almost in the corner, with nowhere else to go. She slowly reached for the gun and withdrew it from his hand, he offered no resistance.

“You don’t need that,” she purred. Her sultry voice was intoxicating and sexy.

Claire pressed her lips against his; they were cold, freezing, but moist. His tongue responded and his desire reached a new peak. A stinging sensation moved down his neck and she broke the kiss to examine her finger, dribbling with blood, his blood. She smiled and placed it in her mouth, sucked, and then moaned in orgasmic delight.

Frank was simultaneously scared and turned on as he noticed her enlarged canine teeth and the red eyes bore into him.

“What the hell is going on?” he said. “I thought you were dead.”

“Maybe I am,” she said.

Then she took his hand and led him to the bed. He moved like he was in a trance, yielding to fate. Her manner changed, turning from soft and feminine to aggressive as she stripped him of his clothes and hurriedly removed hers. She pushed him backwards onto the bed and, with a hungry look, bent down and took his raging cock into her mouth.

Frank moaned, all fear gave way to lust as she drew him in, the last vestiges of control and normality passing as her ice cold mouth milked him. Her fingers explored where no fingers had been before, except his proctologist’s lubricated glove. She became a wild animal possessed with an extreme sexuality, doing things to him, and making him do things to her, that he’d only read about, and some he hadn’t. She took him to heights of pleasure he’d never known before. He came, perhaps two or three times, he didn’t know, all he knew was the ecstasy of the moment, and then she mounted him.

As the soft, pink flesh of her hairless pussy engulfed him in its icy cavern he let out a gasp, it seemed she was consuming his entire being, not just his aching cock. Her fingers scratched and dug deep into his chest and stomach as she moved up and down, her pale breasts bouncing in rhythm. Lines of blood appeared which she licked from his chest and took up on her fingers, sucking each in turn. This drove her into a frenzy of passion, and she rode him with raw animal passion and abandon. How long this went on for he didn’t know but eventually she came, screaming like a demented feral cat. His final orgasm, it had to be the last surely, erupted, filling her belly with his seed and then she collapsed across him. Her mouth covered his and he tasted blood, his own. She gave him some, allowing it to trickle onto his tongue. Strange but erotic emotions flooded through him.

Frank felt as though he were in some timeless dream world, far away from the cares of the world, all problems gone. Sex had never been like this, not in his wildest dreams. What was the next move? They dozed, exhausted, and then the temperature of the room dropped and a breeze blew in despite the window being closed, it was followed by a rushing sound.

A figure appeared with familiar glowing eyes, this time bright yellow, like a wolf. Two long fangs, much longer than Claire’s, hung over her lower lip. Long jet black hair was tied back exposing a face almost white apart from dark circles around the eyes. A black cloak covered her entire torso.
Claire came to with a start.
“Mistress Lopi!”

“The master sent me to collect you and what do find? This human is for our use as a race, not for your personal pleasure, you haven’t even turned him yet! It would be useful to have one of us, like him, in the Police Department to further our cause. I’ll deal with you later. You’ve had your fun with him, now he’s mine!”

Lopi smiled; there was no pleasantness to it, just a look of sexual passion, intimidation and power. She pushed Claire off the bed with a flick of her index finger and then removed the cloak exposing the most beautiful body Frank had ever seen. What happened over the next round of sexual exploits exhausted Frank’s body and blew his mind as she used him any way she saw fit; performing acts that made Claire appear tame in comparison. Her physical strength was incredible; there was nothing he could do to resist. In the final moments, as the she was coming, Frank felt an intensely painful bite to his neck, which was held in a vice like grip until it spurred him to his own tumultuous orgasm and he passed out.

Frank awoke from a strange and lucid dream dominated by teeth and bizarre sexual practices. His watch indicated only fifteen minutes having passed since he arrived. Through the foggy haze of his mind he tried to remember. The girl was still on the bed next to him, lifeless, and his neck was sore. What the hell happened here? The answers never came. Only hints, in daydreams to come, would remind him of what happened. He walked out of the apartment into the black night and the endless rain.

Officer Kelly knew nothing of the events that took place, he heard no disturbance, but he did notice the vacant look on Franks face when he came out oft the building. The forensic team found no trace of the body, though Frank swore blind she was still on the bed when he left. Claire was eventually listed as a missing person, but was never seen or heard of again.

A week later a check up revealed that Frank’s cancer had disappeared, the consultant was astounded. Frank had never felt stronger, and he was smarter. He excelled at work, new powers working to his advantage. But now he could only ever work between sunset and sunrise.

Castle of Light – flash fiction

A piece of flash fiction inspired by Chuck Wendig’s apple season challenge; take three uncommon apple varieties and use their names as characters, places etc. My choice of apples……..can you figure them out?

 

Castle of Light

The operative, Nova Spy, scaled the cliff with feline deftness. Her lithe body was encased in a skin hugging black leather body suit; a wide webbing belt held all the tools required for her purpose.

As she reached the summit the rain, blown by a gale, stung her eyes and her shoulder length hair thrashed her face. She cursed Oliver for calling this mission at short notice. Hunched close to the ground she wiped the hair and water from her eyes and then viewed the target. Lord Lambone’s castle loomed menacingly into the night sky, glowing in the subdued light of a half-moon.

“Nova to O, I’ve reached the top.” She spoke into a two-way radio.

“Received,” said Oliver.

She looked around with the darting eyes of a hunted animal and moved towards the nearest wall, trying to picture where Lambone may be hiding.

“He’ll pay!” she whispered.

Oliver viewed her movements via the feed from a high-resolution camera housed in a pod beneath his ship. He maintained at a discrete distance high above the castle and relaxed, watching the proceedings from a comfortable chair while sipping his favourite Ganymede brandy. He should have stormed the place with particle beam guns and plasma canons but Nova would have non of it, too easy. She wanted to take the traditional approach, so becoming of the Pleiadian race he thought; damned hybrids! Nevertheless he admired her performance so far. Once she had recovered the missing portion of the Nagami Sigil, a portal to higher dimensions, they would be off this rock holding untold power throughout the galaxy. He smiled to himself and felt a stirring between his legs as he zoomed in on her curvaceous body.

Nova climbed the three storey high wall without difficulty, aided by the bio-adhesive pads on her feet and hands, a throw-back to the days when her race lived high in the trees on Gantes. She leapt over the parapet and moved towards a lit window, peering inside at the sumptuous decor and furniture. Lord Lambone lived alone, a butler and housekeeper were the only other residents; he would be unable to resist once he saw her.

“Entering the residence now,” she told Oliver.

“I see you. Work quickly.”

“Maintain radio silence from here on.”

“Roger.”

Nova slid through the nearest door with her gun raised and panned it across the room. It was empty but she could hear music playing further into the castle; she ventured forth and moved through the corridors and rooms like a shadow. She was calm and focussed but there was an inner excitement at the thought of what would be when this night was over; a new life, freedom.

Despite her stealth she heard a sound behind her, and then a voice she knew so well.

“Turn around, slowly,” it said.

She obeyed but kept her gun raised, swinging it sharply around to point straight at the head of her stalker.

“Nova Spy. It’s been a long time,” he said, pointing his own gun at her.

“Lord Lambone. Indeed it has.”

Lambone stood with confidence, holding a semi automatic, old fashioned ballistic pistol. How quaint she thought. But her mind diverted to his physique, clearly displayed through his casual clothes, and to the smooth, deep voice emanating from the attractive face. The old longing arose within her.

“You have the package?” he said.

“Of course.”

He began to lower his weapon and smiled, “I’ve missed you.”

Her heart began to race, “I’ve missed you too my Lord.”

She dropped her gun and ran into his arms, wrapping her legs around him. He kissed her mouth, his tongue playing with hers; she knew how he loved to feel the forked tip of hers in his mouth. They both sighed in ecstasy.

“What now?” she said.

“We deal with Oliver.”

They walked out onto the battlements hand in hand and looked up to the sky.

Oliver saw them on his monitor, sat bolt upright and grasped the microphone.

“What the hell is going on Nova?”

“I’m staying here Oliver.”

“Take the missing piece and get yourself back to the ship now!” he commanded.

“No go, Oliver. This is where I belong.”

“I’ll blast you both to hell and recover it myself! I have the other piece.”

“Do you?”

Oliver turned and open the secure locker by the control console to find it empty. Nova’s voice came over the radio again.

“Looking for this?” she said.

He stared in disbelief at the monitor, she was holding both parts of the Sigil, raised high in each hand as if to taunt him.

Lambone spoke, “I know you can hear me Commander Oliver. It’s all over, your plans have failed, light has overcome darkness as written in the Book of Kell. Fate, my friend.”

“Traitor!” Oliver screamed, and began to arm the ships weaponry.

Nova tuned to Lambone, “all prepared?”

“Locked on and ready to fire.”

“Then do it.”

Two missiles erupted from the centre of the castle, accelerating to Mach 2 within three seconds. Oliver saw the flash, but it was too late, his rage evaporated along with the ship and his body.

“We’d better get this to a safe place, away from all future evil,” said Lord Lambone, taking the Sigil from her hands. “We came so close, it would have been the end.”

“I love you Simon,” she said.

He kissed her again “when did you know?”

“Ten years ago. When you rescued me from the ruins of Tauric, after the War of the Knights.”

“Why so long?”

Her eyes dropped to the ground, “I cannot say.” Though in her heart she knew. She looked up again, straight into Simon’s deep blue eyes “But was the wait worth it?”

He smiled, “yes! I’ve longed for this time, and always knew it would come.”

He never saw the burnt, but legible, scrap of paper float down from the sky which she crushed beneath her foot.

 

 

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The Last Day

The rain lashed down. It bounced off the pavement with the appearance of a boiling cauldron and streamed in rivers down the window. I sipped my coffee, watching drenched pedestrians rushing for cover from the sudden deluge. I sat with a smug feeling, having entered the café moments before it commenced.

A man entered, wearing a grey trench coat and matching Trilby hat. He appeared to be very old but moved with the grace of a young man as he took off his coat, shook the water off and hung it up, his hat followed. His eyes fixed on mine.

He walked towards me, stopped at my table and sat down on the opposite seat.

“What is your name?” he asked.

My senses were already heightened before his question, now I felt distinctly uncomfortable with his presence, yet, for some reason, I gave it to him.

“Thank God,” he said, “I’ve been searching for you for a long time, a very long time.”

He withdrew a brown envelope from his jacket pocket and pushed it towards me with a liver spotted hand.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Open it and see, please.”

I looked inside and withdrew a key and a piece of paper with the plan of a building.

“What is all this?” I asked.

“All will become clear. You don’t like it here do you?”

“No, but how do you know that?”

“I have the benefit of, let’s say, future knowledge. You can’t afford to go home?”

“No, it’s out of the question. For most of us who come here it’s a one way trip.”

“But I’ve found a way.”

“Who are you?”

The stranger reached into his pocket again and produced a passport.

“Take a look,” he said.

“You have the same name as me!”

“Look closer; place and date of birth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain. I came here long ago, in the same position as you. In time I completed my research and found a way to manipulate time and returned back here, now, to help you. That key is the way home.”

“Why me?”

“We haven’t got long, I’ll be brief. I am you. Your future. If I can get you home I won’t have to spend my life in this God-forsaken place. The life I have led here will cease to be, a paradox I know; how can I be here now talking to you if I was never here?”

“Quite.”

“But you have to trust me, for both our sakes. Go to the space port, there you will find a disused room, marked with an ‘X’ on the plan. The key will unlock the door and inside is the transporter I brought back from the future. I have left instructions with it, very simple, it is preset to return you home. Time is running out, you must go. Farewell.”

The man rose, retrieved his hat and coat and walked out. In the blink of an eye he was gone, he simply vanished.
What did I have to lose? I hated it here, trapped. Perhaps this is all fantasy but it wasn’t far to the space port. It had to be worth a look.
And that is exactly how I managed to return home. To leave the persistent rain, the dark skies and the dependence on imported food.

They had terra-formed Mars in 2031 giving those brave enough to risk it the promise of a bright, new future. It didn’t turn out that way. It was bliss to get back to Ganymede.

The Daily Post

What did they learn about us?

After the asteroid impact and subsequent global flooding of 2025 AD, now known as Year Zero NE (New Era), it took humanity half a millennium to return to a state of community, culture and science bearing any resemblance to its former state.
Ragged bands of survivors began to cluster together, battles were fought between the newly enlightened individuals and those still living with the ego driven mindset. The enlightened won the planet. Not through force, they shunned violence, but because they worked in harmony with the planet, Gaia, and she protected those who nurtured her pain; the battles were on a mental level. After a few generations the primitive humans had been wiped out by disease, sterility and their own in-fighting, while the enlightened rose to a higher level of vibration.
The world population gradually expanded, settling at a sustainable level of 1 billion people. Such was the sharing of resources nobody had to work in the traditional sense, there was no money. Some worked the land, others built homes, schools and healing centres, some were artists, musicians and writers. Those who worked the land provided food for all. The builders built homes for all. Those engaged in services to their fellow-man had all provided for them in exchange, a home, food and clothes. Everybody worked in a field which came naturally to them. Perfect balance, a state of euphoria existed never known before in the history of man.
As the culture developed, the study of science finally returned. The people knew everything they needed to know, the meaning of life, how to live in harmony with each other and nature in love and compassion. But, still human, they had curiosity about the world around them.
History also returned as a study. There were vague stories of the human state going back to Year Zero, but no knowledge of what was before that – before the Event. In time a group drew together with the intent of carrying out an archaeological investigation to answer the questions. Eventually they found a site that was fruitful, the remains of a city, buried deep below sand and rock. Digging was easy, mankind had developed the power to tune into creation with his mind and use his inner world to affect the outer. The digging was done by levitating the substrate and depositing it a distance away.
They delved into the past and began piecing together how man previously lived. The facts they learnt imbued them with a mixture of surprise, sadness and humour. It took many months to compile their report; much of what they found was so alien to current life it was often difficult to work out the purpose of many articles but eventually, by cross referencing they had everything figured out.
A brief synopsis of their report follows;
Humankind lived in an almost constant state of war. Can you believe this, they actually killed each other for money, land and over religion?
Money, a strange abstract concept, was the source of much grief and led to a great deal of unhappiness.
They didn’t share as we do; one percent of the population owned, contolled and held power over ninety nine percent of Gaia’s resources and people.
They raped and polluted Gaia with incredulous stupidity, slowly killing the planet for short-term gain, see money.
They transported themselves around the planet in cars, aircraft and ships using non renewable fuel taken from Gaia, adding to environmental damage and pollution. A strange and absurd situation. Albeit, they didn’t have our powers of mental projection travel, levitation, and psychokinesis.
As a light aside, we found one object that rather tickled us. They were obsessed with a device called a ‘mobile phone’. By the use of electromagnetic waves they could talk to others from far away, odd behaviou, but then they didn’t have our telepathic ability. The funny thing is they became so complex people didn’t seem to be able to live without them. Not content with one, they had a fascination with developing these things further and craved the next newest phone. Remarkable. And get this, one of the most common uses was something called a ‘selfie’, a photograph of the owner of the device. We found these items in a city which must have housed millions of people, didn’t they have any friends?
The final summary told how it was an interesting venture but they reburied the city, there was nothing they could learn from this primitive race.

The Daily Post

Two Paths, One Choice – a fantasy

My novel was half complete and bearing heavily on me after six hours of non-stop writing, I needed a break. As I stepped outside, the cool, fresh evening air hit me; it felt good as I drew in lungfuls, breathing in its life force. The moon was full and the skies clear, perforated by a trillion stars. I began to walk and my niggling headache subsided.

I passed neighbouring houses, most with lights ablaze and pondered the lives being enacted within; always the prerogative of a writer to imagine and create from what he sees. My thoughts reached out and expanded to the street, the town, the country, the heavens and all of creation. I felt dizzy, intoxicated by the infinite.

I needed nature, the peace and strength of trees, so headed to the nearby woodland; a regular walking place day or night.

The creaking boughs welcomed me into their embrace, the moon sparkled through the branches and the wind played with the leaves. I stood still, deep in the wood, absorbing the relentless energy; then a strange feeling came over me.

I felt as though I were being transported in my mind, seeing deeper, further than ever before. My mind flew high over the trees, surveying a wondrous expanse of countryside with ocean beyond, all too brief – I was plunged back into reality.

A new sound grasped my attention, a chanting, then a light. A small fire burned nearby, from where the voice emanated. Curious, I moved to see more.

A woman, old and dressed in black, was drawing the flames towards her, I was compelled to draw closer. She was pulling me into her circle.

The woman looked up, sensing my approach long before she could possibly see me, she beckoned.

“Come near, friend,” she said.

I obeyed.

“You are looking for something, your future. I see you, all of you.”

I was uncomfortable with her penetrating gaze and slow, intimidating tone.

“Do not be afraid.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is not important. I am what you might call a witch. I can give you what you want.”

At what cost, I thought.

“No cost, unless you make the wrong choice.”

I hadn’t spoken.

“You are perplexed. You write, great words, oh yes. But you wonder where it will lead. Correct?”

“Um, yes, I guess so.”

“I can give you success, I can bestow fame and glory upon you. Or I can give you truth.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Simple. You have two choices. To be a writer of popular fiction, through which you will gain fame and riches. Or, to be true to your art, to write from your soul, not caring for profit or renown. To go down in history as a literary genius. Your choice. Decide now and I will give. Or spend years wondering what to do.”

I thought long and hard, what was she offering? Success on one hand, struggle on the other. In my heart I knew the answer, it had to be for truth and beauty. I was compelled to give a response.

“I choose art.”

“Very well, it is yours.”

“Why are you doing this? There has to be a catch, a price.”

“No, friend. I owe a debt to your great-grandmother. She saved me from persecution, many, many years ago. In return I promised to help her great-grandson, you, to achieve great rewards as a writer. Just as your mother did.”

“But I’ve chosen the path of hardship!”

“Is that what you think? Go and write your heart out. If you do that you will reap untold rewards, people will love your work, you will be famous.”

“But I thought that was the reward for the other path?”

“Did you? Write your truth. I can say no more, the promise is fulfilled. You will see. Now go.”

The witch disappeared, vanishing into the flames which died immediately. I stayed a while in that place, until I knew the truth, for the first time, of who my mother really was.

The Daily Post

Transmutation – flash sci-fi

Tom regained consciousness not knowing where he was, except that he was lying on a clean bed. Bright lights obscured his vision, he could discern no sound or movement. His chest tightened and panic rose in him.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice, cracked and distressed, echoed back at him.

Memories began to form, an experiment. He had volunteered, in full knowledge of the procedure and risks. Now he remembered.

He heard a door open and voices drawing closer. A deep, male voice addressed him.

“Mr Williams, can you hear me?”

“Yes, what’s happening?”

“I’m Doctor Frank, you remember?”

“Yes.”

“You’re OK, you’ve just come around and we want to run some tests.”

Another voice, a woman, who Tom sensed, displayed an edge of concern, “Doctor…..!”

“Quiet,” the doctor said.

“But…?”

“Shh!”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about Tom,” said Doctor Williams.

Monitoring machines beeped into life, more wires were attached to his arms and chest. Tom was worried. There were anxious voices all around, he could sense an atmosphere of unease in the room.

He was fully conscious now and determined.

“What’s happening to me doctor?” this time he spoke with force.

“Doctor, we have to tell him,” the woman said.

“Tell me what?…. what!” Tom screamed.

“OK, OK,” said the Doctor. “Tom, the experiment has not gone quite as planned…..”

“What do you mean?” Tom interrupted.

“Tom, I’m sorry, instead of making you ten years younger you are now ten years older. My initial test confirm this, you have biologically aged ten years in the past twelve hours.”

“What!” Tom sounded incredulous. “Let me see!”

“If you’re sure you are ready for it Tom?”

“Just let me fucking well see what you’ve done!”

“OK Tom, take it easy, but this could be quite painful for you at this stage. Nurse, a mirror please.”

The mirror was placed in front of Tom. He looked, but didn’t believe, fighting against the reality until the cold hard facts were overwhelming. He had been 50 years old, with a full head of hair and little grey, and a face with youthful, almost boyish, looks. The reflection staring back at him was balding and grey. The face had many more lines around the eyes and mouth, the lips of which were cracked and thin. The eyes which peered back at him were bloodshot and yellowing with age.

He was shocked and speechless.

“Tom?” said the doctor.

“What went wrong?”

“We’re not sure yet.”

“I can’t stay like this! You have to do something!”

“Tom, I need to run more tests and check my data. We have been researching ageing and reverse ageing here for a decade, as you know, I have some ideas, just give me a little time.”

“Time! My time has already been cut by ten years!”

“We’ll work it out Tom. I’ll come back later.”

A nurse stayed with Tom, reassuring him until Dr Frank returned three hours later.

“Hello Tom, I have something for you, an idea.”

“Tell me about it.”

“There is risk, let me say from the start, but I believe it will work.”
“Another procedure?”

“Yes. We can’t use the original procedure, after using it once on a subject that is it. But the one I am talking about we performed on chimpanzees years ago and it never failed. But…….”

“But what?”

“There are side effects but we can take you back perhaps 25 or 30 years, think of that!”

“What side effects?”

“The process involves tricking the cells into a time paradox then we effectively force them back in time. That can cause all kinds of crazy outcomes, like skin colour change, reversal of hereditary illness, and changes in mentality and personality, becoming brighter. All positive. You see, somehow this process purifies the DNA. It’s quite incredible.”

“What’s the problem then?”

“There is one other change that can take place.”

“Yes?”

Tom underwent the procedure with full success, he was 18 years younger than when he started the program, fitter and healthier than he’d ever been and smarter too. As for the other change, well, Tom is now known as Tracy.

 

The Daily Post

A Boy Enlightened

The young boy looked into the tired eyes of an old, weather-beaten man. A vagrant, dishevelled, who smiled though yellow teeth; dirty hair, grey skin and black nails.

The boy turned away, pierced by the eyes, feeling awkward and embarrassed. With school over for the day he walked and began to think of the tramp; something moved, deep, unfamiliar, unknown, in his heart. He had felt disgust and despair, but now there was pity and compassion.

Over many days they passed each other and the man waved. In time the boy acknowledged, the ice melting, and he spoke as the man sat through sun, wind and rain. Weeks passed and soon they were laughing together. His heart softened and he began to learn from stories told by the old man, of the wisdom gained from a life of pain. As months marched by, from summer into winter, they became true friends.

And the boy grew in learning, of things that matter; of space and time, of beauty, of nature, of spirit, of love and death, from the cracked lips of the old man.

One day in early spring, “I have to go soon”, the old man whispered. He took the boy’s hand in his and tears welled. “Be good, be true and remember,” were his last words.

In the morning there was an ambulance where the old man would sit. The boy saw it from afar.

Running, his heart pounding, he reached the spot too late. A stranger stood there, “the old man died, they took him away.”

The boy cried, but through tears he saw a photograph, where the man used to sit. It was of the old man when he was young, like the boy, as if he were looking in a mirror.

The boy remembered, and became a man.

The Daily Prompt

Edge of the Frame

You weren’t there when I took the photo, I’m sure of that. I composed the photograph with care, every person and object aligned with artistic vision. Where did you appear from?

For hours I studied the photograph with obsession; I meditated and took myself back again and again to the time and location, still there was no answer. You couldn’t have been in the frame.

I processed and digitally enhanced the image on my computer. A face appeared, captivating, the face of an angel. My heart soared. I fell in love. I couldn’t sleep, but absorbed the image in my mind and heart. The smile, the knowing eyes, the golden hair cascading down your shoulders and framing the milky white, soft, and unblemished skin of your face.

I yearned for you.

I ached for you.

If I could spend one moment, one instant of time, in your company, my life would be fulfilled.

A dark pool welled in my heart. I would never see you again. You were merely a fleeting image, a ghost, a trick of the light and imagination, a moment, forever lost.

I fell asleep shortly before dawn and dreamed. In lucid dreaming, you were there again. I moved towards you and stopped when you noticed me. You held your hand out. I wanted you in my life, not in my dreams. My soul swung from ecstatic joy to deep despair. The image faded, I tried to awake but drifted into a black, unknowing sleep.

For three weeks I thought of you, I struggled to exist day by day. The routine of life, work, domestics, hobbies, continued, performed by an automaton whose mind was somewhere else; with you. At night I dreamed of you, every night, so real, so alluring; my heart was breaking. I was losing control, but couldn’t help myself. The vision of unearthly beauty, you, haunted me. Yet there was delight in this torment.

Food ran low in the house, which had become untidy. I looked in the mirror and was shocked by my unkempt appearance. With effort I wrenched myself into reality, showered, put on fresh clothes and cleaned the house. Hunger pangs shot through my stomach like knives being twisted, I had to eat. Cooking was just too much, so I headed out for a take-away from the Chinese restaurant half a mile down the road. The air smelled strange, but I drew it deep into my lungs. It had been so long since I had walked, driving to work every day, then dreaming my life away at home.

A screech of tyres. A scream. A figure, poised, frozen in the path of a car which was hurtling out of control. I ran and pushed the figure clear and then the car caught me. A tearing pain in my hip, then the world turned upside down, I span through the air and landed on the concrete of the sidewalk. A bang resonated through my skull, my last memory and then everything went blank.

I awoke two days later in hospital. I had concussion but the wounds were minor, I would make a full recovery. As my vision cleared a bright blue light filled the room . . . no . . . it was filling my entire being, mind and body; for the face looking down on me was you. Love filled your eyes

You have never left my side since that time, since we saved each other.

Thirty years have passed, but I know you love to hear me tell our story as we sit in the garden watching the sun set. We are aging now, your hair is grey, and lines add character to your face, but I see through those; I see only the face of my angel.

Prompted by the Daily Post

The Road Back to You

The miles roll by, never seeming to end,
grey tarmac hums and throbs beneath tyres.
White lines, mesmerising; flash, flash, flash.
The radio plays romantic songs; thinking
of you, so far away, under a different sky.
Awaiting a kiss.

How many hours gone? How many more?
Sky darkens, sun hidden, rain splatters down,
on hot road, sizzling. Wipers; swish, swash, swish.
I speed on, longing for your lips; to hold,
to caress, to rest and dwell in your arms.
Awaiting a kiss.

One more hour will see it done, the endless
highway finished. A juggernaut, must overtake,
faster, I thunder by; beep, honk, beep,
flashing lights; another lonely freeway traveller.
Does he long the same, like me, for love?
Awaiting a kiss?

Racing heart fights with tired mind, home
so near, last junction beckons. Fingers stretch
on clammy wheel. Indicators flash; tick, tick, tick.
House lights beckon, warm, inviting. Parking brake
on, engine dies. You are waiting, smiling. Ready.
A long awaited kiss.

Prompted by The Daily Post

A Sudden Downpour Surprise

Blogging again!

It’s been a long time, over three weeks, since my last blog post, but I’m back! The past month I’ve been sailing in the Scottish Hebrides with my girlfriend aboard my yacht. It was the second such trip this year, and the last big one until next year. So much I could have written about, some of which I did; the wonderful sights, wildlife and day-to-day adventure, I’ll get those stories posted over the coming days.

The biggest problem was slow or non-existent internet access out in the sticks, but wow, it was worth it; though I‘ve missed being part of the blogging community and sharing our writings back and forth. I did at least achieve a further 3000 words or so of my second novel, a very tiny effort but at least I kept it going!

Oh, and my apologies for any comments or pingbacks not responded to over the past weeks , I’ll catch up 🙂

 

What better way to get back in the swing of things than with The Daily Post prompt, so here goes!

We were blessed with fantastic weather on holiday, almost three weeks of sunshine. One day we did have torrential rain at anchor, but I’ll keep to the script of the prompt;

 

A Sudden Downpour Surprise

Attired in shorts and t-shirt the sun beat down and a gentle breeze eased the stifling temperature as I walked down Main Street of this strange, backwoods town, peering into shop windows with a hand over my eyes to reduce the glare from the sun on the glass. I passed expensive clothes shops, bookstores, cafes and bars, and a few shops that defied description; you know the kind, selling everything from toys to gardening equipment, alongside musical instruments and household paints.

The air grew even warmer, a muggy thickness that clung to my throat and lungs. A few minutes later the wind stiffened and dark, ominous clouds filled the sky; the temperature dropped suddenly. Then the heavens opened. The rain bounced off the cracked pavement and pummelled my sunhat, at such close range it sounded like hail on a tin roof. I darted for the nearest cover, a shop with a dark awning giving shade to an equally dark window; I couldn’t even see what it was displaying as I rushed into the shop.

I stood on a bare wooden floor, unceremoniously dripping water from my hat, the clothes that were sticking to me, and from my entire body. At least it wasn’t a quality carpet I thought. Gathering my senses I gazed around at my new surroundings. The lighting was dim, and after being used to the blinding sun of a few short minutes ago, my eyes took a moment to become accustomed. Slowly I began to see images, rows of books, grandfather clocks, old-looking cabinets, quaint ornaments and ancient oil lamps, some actually burning with a dim, flickering flame.

Feeling a little out of synch in my brightly coloured clothes I moved to browse the stock of books. At that moment an old gentleman appeared, shuffling his way from the rear of the shop in tattered carpet slippers, a frayed shirt and with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

Without removing his smoke, he uttered, “good morning sir.” His voice was hoarse but quiet.

I replied, “hello, just thought I‘d have a little look around until the rain stops.”

“Feel free, “he said, leaning against a table, watching me.

I glanced outside, keen to leave this dark, dank place, but the rain continued unabated. Still he watched me. As I removed a book he moved towards me and placed a withered, liver spotted hand on my wrist.

Breathing stale tobacco breath over me he said, “I have other goods sir might be interested in.”

Still holding the book I had selected, he ushered, almost pushed me, to the back of the shop. His whole manner I found disquieting as I took another desperate glance at the weather outside. He led me to a doorway covered with a curtain, drew it aside and switched on the light. For a moment I was blinded by neon strip lights.

He spoke again in a voice which felt like treacle, “is this what sir wants?”

As my vision cleared I saw racks of magazines; pornographic magazines. On another wall was a vast range of sex toys and bondage equipment. Alongside those items were racks of clothes, leather and lace, not the sort of clothes one would wear to a party; perhaps some kinds of party, I found myself thinking!

There was nothing inherently wrong with what I was seeing, except for the context; the contrast with the front end of the shop, it’s tawdry layout and the range of antique books and relics. And then there was him, this unkempt, dishevelled man. What went on in this town; I wondered.

“You like?” he said, his voice now had an edge of excitement.

I didn’t answer. I hurriedly placed the book I was carrying onto the nearest shelf, pushed past him and made my way to the front door, trying not to run; out into the pouring rain and breathed in the fresh clean smell of the sweet, wet air.